The Most Recent Past
by Entrovert
Summary: A thirty-year-old Hermione spends her birthday dinner with Harry, and makes a mistake that based on something that has haunted her mind for nineteen years. She expresses her feelings in the only way that thirty years and too much alcohol can provide.


The Recent Past

By Adagio

The path of insanity is hard to trace with the finger of a vague memory. It's been two months. Two months aching with the reminiscence of a mistake that seared through her mind, burning a road full of hair-tugging and faces collapsing in the palms of weary hands.

The older one gets, the harder it becomes to distinguish the mind-blowing mistakes from slips of the tongue, and the addition of a few drinks to the plate of a wary mind never seemed to help the regret factor of one's words.

Her eyes darted above the book that shielded the rest of her unforgivable facial expression and quickly scanned the library. There wasn't anyone else here, finally. She had been waiting the entire day to be alone and with the hustle and bustle of the holidays, it was becoming increasingly difficult to have time to herself.

Which, coincidentally, was the cause of all her problems, as well as the one she was currently suffering as a result of temporarily being exposed to it in the first place?

The thick book fell resolutely from her hands and thudded onto the wooden table. She leaned back into her chair and shut her eyes tightly. A bag lay abandoned by her feet, filled to the brim with presents wrapped in shiny paper that had not yet become crinkled at the edges.

Had it really been months already? Two months since the culmination of everything that she had been experiencing for the past- oh she had lost count of how many years she'd curled into a ball, lying beneath the covers of the bed that was too large for one person's wishful thinking.

--

"I cannot believe this." Hermione smoothed her napkin violently onto her lap. "I am THIRTY. Thirty years old!"

Her companion across the table raised a bemused eyebrow.

"I suppose this would be a terrible time to wish you a happy birthday."

"Oh- that's-"

She heaved her shoulders down and sighed.

"I do appreciate you coming out, Harry. I'm not trying to be rude… but… oh…! I just can't seem to get into my head that a part of my life has passed where … so many things I had been planning to achieve just- haven't happened!"

Hermione reached for her drink and gulped three times, emptying the contents of the glass with a satisfied clunk as she slammed it back down on the table. She winced, still not used to the effects of alcohol that she had selectively avoided during her 20's.

"Don't feel so down about it, Hermione. You have a brilliant career and tons of admirers. It's nothing much to have a few worries here and there."

She scoffed and motioned for the waiter to bring her another round of drinks. They were in a popular muggle restaurant in Germany , where Harry was currently taking a vacation and she was stationed to work. It was a bit lonely celebrating her 30th with just one friend, but, she thought, not as bad as moping at home, eating ice cream and wondering where she had strayed from the path of happiness.

"A brilliant career. Tons of admirers. Notice how I'm still here? Not at some wild and crazy party in London , drinking sparkling butterbeer and toasting to my success. Oh- it's just so frustrating…." Her eyes flitted up again and noticed Harry frowning. "I mean… not that… you're bad company or anything. No, I wasn't saying that- "

"No, I understand." He smiled and pointed at her uneaten salad. "Perhaps we should start eating; lighten your mood a bit. No need to spend the night moping, you know."

"Of course." She dug into her lettuce, her face burning for some strange reason as she chugged another glass of wine down her needy throat. It must be the alcohol…well… she didn't really care anymore. Let it be.

"I kind of- just- wanted to- thank you." She cleared her throat.

"What for?" Harry grinned easily and began to cut up his steak.

"Oh, well, I know you must've wanted to spend tonight with your family. It's probably been a pretty dull evening, eh?" Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "Oh I'm such a stupid – thing! I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry."

Her eyes were fixated on her lap, furiously smarting, and she didn't dare to do anything else than drop the fork from her hand to the table. A small thunk vibrated across it, and she suddenly felt a resolute pressure on her fingers. A slightly calloused hand grasped her four fingers tightly and stared at her so resolutely that she tilted her head slowly to meet the eyes of the man across the table.

"Don't assume that just because we're not at school anymore, I don't have any obligation to look out for you. We're good friends, Hermione. Best, or so I like to hope, still. You're not the only one worried about you, alright? Why don't we try finishing dinner, and I'll walk you home. Maybe call Ginny to keep you company for the night."

"Thank you." Her fingered curled hesitantly around his, and she used her other hand to gulp down what was left of the bottle they had ordered. "I … I think I'll be fine. Well- at least- " She hiccupped, her chin jerking and face muscles relaxing for a second. A second long enough to loose the composure that she had stamped upon her face. Before Hermione knew it, tears had started to drench her cheeks, and her body was shaking, sobbing, while her head was filled with a curious interest as to why she had suddenly started to cry.

"Hermione? Hermione, are you- do you want to leave?" He looked around, trying to call the waiter to their table.

"No. No, I'm alright. Really." But it was pathetic. She could barely even speak, and she knew that people were starting to stare. It was just awful, why was she crying? She didn't _want_ to. Really. But she couldn't stop, and the colvusions of sobs across her body were starting to feel like reflexes of everything she had thought of as regrets earlier that day.

"Come on, we're going." He got up and walked across to her, holding out his hand while her coat was draped across his other arm. Harry sighed and grabbed her arm, before Hermione seemed to wake up a bit and nodded dumbly, getting up and holding out her arms while he helped her get her coat on.

"I think I have a headache, Harry." She mumbled into her collar.

"I wouldn't be surprised. Look at how much you've had to drink." Hermione watched him pay the waiter and apologize for any inconveniences through a strange, musty haze.

Harry was sneaking glances at her worriedly from the corner of his eye as he talked to the waiter, and she tried to smile to reassure him. Truthfully, her mouth didn't even turn up. Instead, she felt like dropping to the floor and leaning her head back against the legs of the table.

She knew that coming here tonight had been a mistake. She knew it was _going_ to be a mistake far before she had dispatched her owl to Harry's hotel.

In fact, she was the world's biggest idiot. Hermione hadn't seen her old friend for five years, and suddenly, he showed up at the library with his two children, reading them stories in the kid's section with the large, inflatable chairs that floated contently above the carpeted nook. He was here for an extended vacation with his family. The recent years had taken their toll on him and his health, and Harry decided to come to this nice neighborhood to settle down for a few months before moving back to London .

In that moment, everything that she had thrown to the back of her mind rushed feverently to the front of her attentions. The crumpled wedding invitation that greeted her as she dumped out her garbage by her mum's house, the equally as crumpled baby shower invitations that lay abandoned next to her bed, keeping company with the wadded tissues. And there was more, so much more, that she couldn't bring herself to think of, for at that moment, he had looked up, and there was no running away.

What could she have done? He was obviously happy to see her after their half-decade of virtual estrangement. Why didn't she reply to his letters? Oh, she had been busy, didn't he know? And so many promotions and all that busy busy busy stuff that prominent witches like her were so busy with these days.

There was no way she could have run away, screaming about how she didn't ever want to see him again after her cowardice had lost the battle to the progression of time and love. No, that would have been inappropriate considering the circumstances, not to mention the two toddlers goggling at her. Instead, she had played along, or so she hoped, and went on lunch 'dates' with him, trying to 'catch up' on the times.

The worst thing, really, was the fact that nothing much had changed. Harry was as easy to talk to as ever, and their old camaraderie came back in full force. She was actually having a good time again, and her work didn't just serve as a distraction. He wanted to know so many things; it seemed as if he was concerned for her. And it wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. She didn't want to be the one who worried him with her problems. Despite everything, Hermione wasn't mortally depressed, and she knew that whatever plagued her was nothing compared to the pain he had experienced since she had met him.

And when he had asked to take her to dinner for her birthday, she couldn't very well just flat out refuse. What else could she have done? Wallowed at home, hoping to spend time with him instead? Well, that was the deal, wasn't it?

But now…now there was no turning back. She was feeling lightheaded, and leaned on him for support. She could feel him sending her concerned looks as they walked down the dimly lit streets to her company house. It was only a few blocks now. They hadn't chosen a particularly fancy restaurant.

"Harry?"

His eyes lit up at some sign of speech from her and nodded.

"Yes?"

"Why… did you get married?"

There was a slightly confused pause.

"What?"

They were nearing her house now; she could see the little window that still had the faint glow of her bedroom light that she had forgotten to turn off.

"I thought that you were waiting."

"I don't think I really understand, Hermione. What do you mean?"

"I thought you were _waiting_, Harry. For something. Or, someone."

There was another pause; this one was slightly longer, and they were turning into the little cement square that led to her door. Harry helped her up the front step and loosened his arm from her shoulder, staring into her eyes with an inquisitive expression.

"Someone? How do you figure? You mean, someone else?"

Hermione felt the sudden absence of warmth from around her shoulders, and shivered slightly. She lifted her head to meet his face, and felt herself shiver again. But this time, it was for more than a slightly different reason.

The structure of his face had changed, she noticed, since they were in school. He had really matured, hadn't he? She remembered the look he had held when he read that book to his daughter. And his daughter was beautiful, she looked so much like him, it scared her. But of course, the little girl had been suspicious of Hermione, and Hermione didn't think there was anything wrong in her thinking so.

Now, gazing up into his waiting face, she didn't know what to say. It was a familiar place that she was in- tongue-tied during important times. She could feel her cheeks burning and her head spinning, and she was fairly sure she had the all-too-familiar expression of indignity and worry plastered on her face.

The bubbly taste of that wine was working in her brain, and an ephemeral peace started to work its way down her body. Hermione found herself opening her mouth and speaking.

"Did you know, Harry, that I think … I've always thought… it would be you and me?"

His narrowed eyes widened to the size of their dinner plates, and Harry's lips opened in silence. Hermione just smiled dreamily, staring straight into the whites that formed around his green eyes.

"When you got married, it was…so…strange… you know…of course, I didn't go. Remember that?" She giggled as her foot slipped on a little piece of ice that formed around her doorstep, and she gasped girlishly as she reached out and grabbed his shoulders for support.

"I thought- thought- I thought that …that… maybe, if I just waited long enough, you would come to your sense, see? But you were a stupid git, you know. You didn't bother." She giggled again. "But that's ok, Harry, "

He was starting to look worried.

"That's ok. Because… you see… I still love you, regardless."

Hermione stood on her toes and pressed her mouth against his. It felt a little cold, from the weather, but the texture was just as she had always imagined from the constant observation of the inner workings of his mouth.

She was suddenly an eleven-year-old girl again, riding the train to Hogwarts for the first time, and surprised to see the famous Harry Potter looking scared in an almost empty compartment. She was thirteen, and overcome with the urges to hug him and throw her new cat against the wall just to have him embrace her. She was nineteen, walking down the street with him, getting a coffee, wondering when they could be together. She was twenty-two, sobbing in her parents' flat as the enchanted wedding invitation dropped confetti on the large leather couch. She was twenty-nine, watching him hug two little girls that called him 'daddy'.

She was thirty, her face streaked with tears and regret, her lips covering the mouth that she had felt so much empathy, love, and longing for for more than half of her life. And, more than anything else, her chapped lips were greeted with a stoic reply of confusion and horror. She was just a pathetic woman starting her thirties with the bitter closure of a dream she would hold forever.

---

It was starting to get dark, now. The holiday lights were creeping into the musty room, and Hermione groggily opened her eyes. She quickly checked her watch. 6:30. There was still time.

She got up and grabbed all her heavy shopping bags, nodding to the librarian as she headed out, noticing the wedding band on the finger of the middle aged woman pushing the cart out of the counter with defeat. Hermione levitated her bags onto a cart and pushed it down the main street, heading for the station. She was a bit late, but… there should still be enough time.

"Excuse me, sir, but, do you know if the train leaving for London has left yet?" She asked the man in a uniform next to the sign that said: ENGLISH

"Not that I know, ma'am."

"Thank you." She said hurriedly, and pushed her cart down the aisle of lockers, paying quickly for a card and stuffing her large bags into the compartment.

Hermione checked her watch again. Yes, there was a little bit of time left. She crammed her hands into her pockets and headed down the station, her head rushing with worry.

They hadn't spoken in two months. She hadn't owled him, and there was no reason why he should've done the same for her. After all, she had ran into her house crying after seeing the expression on his face after she had kissed him. It was nothing she wanted to bring into her memory at the moment.

"_Attention, all travelers. The train #453 heading for _ _London_ _ will depart in 5 minutes. I repeat…" _

Hermione cursed under her breath and started to walk more briskly towards the platform. Her feet screeched to a stunning halt as she spotted him, holding the hand of one of his daughters. She saw the foot of the other one stepping onto the train. Hermione winced.

The daughter holding his hand seemed to be saying something, and Hermione dared to walk closer to them, so close that she was essentially half-hiding behind the pillar next to the train.

"…no, we can get some sweets on the train, honey. We don't have to – "

She winced as he stopped short, his eyes widening as they did that night as he spotted her standing there. Her hair was up in a tight bun that had become loose and wild in her trek to the station, and her clothes were wrinkled, still, from her nap. His gaze made her curl her fist into a ball, and she bit her cheek to try to hold back her tears. It worked. Harry opened his mouth, as if to say something, but she shook her head resolutely. She didn't dare to smile, but nodded when she was sure he wouldn't say anything.

'This is it.' She thought. 'This is the end of it.' The sob that welled up at the bottom of her throat was fought back with a furious force as she noticed his eyes hesitantly focus back onto his daughter, and he ushered her onto the train.

There were no final glances. Hermione didn't expect any, but she followed his back with her eyes, letting the tears flow freely now. Her stricken face was reflected on the glass as he stared into it, and he shut his eyes, taking a piece of candy from his pocket and offering it to his daughter who was still tugging on his sleeve.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, and leaned her body against the pillar, hiding it from the train. She was thirty, no longer living in her memories, but the intolerable present, and no longer the stunning side-kick and best friend, but the forgotten sweetheart of a time where the innocence of adolescence overshadowed the consequences of the future.


End file.
